


you be the anchor that keeps my feet on the ground

by kireiyazou



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dealing with the aftermath of the Watcher’s Crown, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin is too good, Short One Shot, avatar Jon becomes Avatar Jon, dark but hopeful, spoilers for mag160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kireiyazou/pseuds/kireiyazou
Summary: I'll have you know I'm scared to death.Tell me once again that you will love me till the death and should I die, you swear that you will come for me.—————————-Two anchored souls melting into one another, sheltered from the storm raging outside.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 1
Kudos: 63





	you be the anchor that keeps my feet on the ground

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit short, but I wanted to get it out of my head and down on paper as I get back into the swing of writing. I hope you enjoy it anyway!! And, massive spoilers for MAG160, please catch up before reading this! Thank you!

Closing his eyes no longer means anything at all, because Jon can see straight through his eyelids as if they weren’t there.

He can see most of everything—the limitless gaze of those millions of emerald cosmic eyes crowding the sky like the pores of a sponge, rippling with the raw and unbridled pleasure of a monster fully-formed and famished.

He can see. He knows the fear which drowns the innocents who stare up at the convulsing, stalking thing that bares their bones with a cutting glance. He feels it in his head as if it might crack open with a sick thud like a melon struck, the torture of omniscient understanding pulling forth that last silken thread of humanity left in his body and wrapping it delicately at the edge of a knife.

Jonah Magnus’ delighted laugh wraps itself around his chest and squeezes the air from his lungs, a victory cry laced delicately with the exalting and reverent worship Jonah has lavished upon Jon since he woke from his coma.

It makes him feel disgusted. He can feel the self-hatred and the boiling disgust curl and writhe inside his gut like a tapeworm, a squirming and sickening thing that cannot be contained with the weakened words that try and surface from his throat. He finds at the end, he has nothing to say—no excuses to make. No hope of redemption to seek.

He finds a gentle, trembling hand placed upon his neck, a thumb slowly caressing the space behind his ear. A gesture that is both heartbroken and unafraid. The faint scent of petrichor and chamomile envelops this amalgamation of unblinking eyes and squealing magnetic tape; of shrill microphone feedback and the ever-gaping pupil of the security camera; of soul-splitting terror and of an undiscovered but always persisting, desperate hope. This cowering, consuming creature remembers following this scent past the ends of the Earth in a swirl of haze and muted memory, the distinct conviction of complete devotion flooding him.

_I_ _love_ _you_ , speaks the twice-dead man from within the chaos, held firm by the hand gently cradling his head. And it is now that he understands.

Jon opens all of his eyes to see the man kneeling before him, his silky red hair curling softly around his ear, sky blue eyes flooded with tears as he clutches Jon’s head, staring bravely back with love steady and unwavering. Martin’s concrete resolution: _I_ _will_ _not_ _lose_ _him_ _again_.

The cups of tea; the pile of cassettes stacked haphazardly next to the coffin; with Martin’s hand in his, he knows the way home.

Fighting the feeling of helplessness with clenched teeth and grasping fingers, Jon meets Martin’s gaze with his two deep brown eyes, crystal clear despite the roiling chaos of the Beholding.

“You are my anchor.” It feels like a burning confession, like a deep breath of air, like a crescendo.

A smile and a laugh that’s choked by a sob. A desperate embrace. Two anchored souls melting into one another, sheltered from the storm raging outside. The world’s most ardent kiss.

Two lovers, hands clasped and heart pounding, facing the fear with love and feeling the soul capture the eyes from their searing immortal light.


End file.
